Phone Calls
by DarkYaoi
Summary: England receives one too many unexplained phone calls in the middle of the night. His nerves are worn thin and America strains to keep his cool. Why does this hero keep cracking?
1. Chapter 1

He woke up unexpectedly, short of breath and filled with terror.

"Arthur!" The name escaped his lips before he had time to think. The object of his dream kept flashing before his tired eyes.

Blood and death played on his mind.

The incident had been years ago but it still haunted him. War was never bloodless. Alfred knew that better than most. He'd seen women being killed and children being raped.

He reached for the phone and his heart pounded. Surely Arthur would answer his phone… right? Just to assure Alfred that he wasn't still a prisoner of war.

It rang loudly. Once, twice, thrice before a sleepy voice answered the phone. He hung up as soon as he heard the voice on the other end. Breathing hard but significantly calmer he fell back down and into an uneasy sleep.

Arthur rolled over lazily and stared at his phone, checking the caller ID. Alfred, this would make the third time this week that he'd called in the middle of the night and promptly hung up on him.

Arthur ran a hand down his face and slipped out of bed and into his slippers. He was already awake anyway.

Now Arthur wasn't Great Briton for nothing. He knew when someone wasn't just being obnoxious in the middle of the night. He didn't have a plan but he knew that he needed to confront the problem head on, lest he never have a good night's sleep ever again.

It was hardly worth it to brew up a large pot of tea so he shoved a tea bag into a large travel mug (a flashy thing from America) and filled it to the brim with hot water. He eyed the honey on the counter and then decided against it. He grabbed a banana that was covered in bruises and scarfed it down.

He pulled his hat and coat on and walked out into the cold November air. The airport wasn't far and England felt more awake than expected. Without taking anything but his tea and wallet with him, he pulled out of his driveway and started the short journey to the airport.

The roads were clear of any traffic except the one police car that patrolled the area. He hoped to buy a plan ticket when he got there.

Thoughts bubbles in his head, bringing forth scenarios of why America would be calling him so late at night and even having the nerve to hang up on him.

Parking his car was easy since there weren't many people at the airport. Getting his ticket was more of a hassle since most planes flew in no less than 6 hours and they wouldn't allow him to make a run for the one leaving in 5 minutes.

Slouching in the uncomfortable chairs he opened a magazine and finished his tea. He soon grew bored and began pacing the hallway.

People started to fill up the waiting area as the hours ticked by. He felt himself dozing off when it was his turn to board. With a huff and frustrated sigh he followed the crowd.

He ended up sitting beside a polite young gentleman who held a squirming baby. It would have been pleasant enough had the baby not stated to scream because its ears hurt.

Arthur found himself exiting the plane with a pounding headache and droopy eyes. He hailed a cab after assuring that he had his wallet and empty mug.

The driver chattered wildly, probably in some attempt to keep him awake as they drove towards where America lived. He frowned when they pulled into the driveway and he noticed the blinds to the house were all closed. It was early evening and America hated the dark when alone- especially after a scary movie or any talk of ghosts.

Arthur paid the cab driver and walked towards the door. He froze and shifted from foot to foot before ringing the doorbell. He waited.

And waited

He grew frustrated and huffed. Where was the American? He tried the door handle and it jiggled but didn't give: locked out with no one answering.

His tired mind didn't even think that America might be out and could have forgotten to open the blinds that morning.

Sneaking around the side of the house he spotted a window open- on the second floor with no way to get to it.

Arthur flung himself onto one of the patio chairs by the back door and passed out quietly and in defeat, unwilling to put any more effort in.

It had turned dark once more before Arthur woke up to rain drizzling on his face. He scrunched up his face in distaste and stretched. He felt stiff, soggy and gross. He cursed the American and pounded on the back door.

"Open up!" He shouted. "What gives you the right to call me in the middle of the night?"

The door creaked open an inch and Arthur could see one frightened blue eye. Alfred looked at Arthur's scowling face and promptly slammed the door in his face. The click of the lock was heard and Arthur's angry face turned into one of shock.

He clicked the door hard. "Fine! Next time I'll just stay home!" Not quit caring if Alfred understood what he was saying, he turned on his heel to leave.

The door opened once more but much quicker this time and Arthur was all but dragged inside.

"England?" America asked. It was even darker in the hallway. Arthur jerked away from him and trudged over to the curtains nearest to them. He tore them open just for the satisfaction of knowing they were open. "It's dark out y'know." America stated.

"Well if you're not going to have them open during the day then they might as well be open at night!" He snapped back at him. America shrugged and flopped onto his couch, resuming a violent looking game.

"So what's up?" He asked casually and blasted a few enemies with three heads.

"Don't 'what's up' me!" England threw a stray pillow at him and missed horribly. "You need to explain the phone calls I've been getting!"

"What phone calls?" He laughed nervously and glanced at England, who now had his hands on his hips and his lips pursed.

"You know bloody well what phone calls. Explain before I castrate you." To America he sounded deadly serious and he shifted uncomfortably. Turning the game off, he faced England and puffed his cheeks.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He paused before continuing. "Perhaps Francy-pants called you so he could jerk to it."

This made England sputter and whack the other in the back of the head. "I have caller ID!"

"Oh." This made him look at his knees like a child who'd been scolded. "April fools?" He offered weakly.

"I think not." England stated firmly.

"Welp, I've got some cleaning to do!" He made a dash off the couch and for the stairs.

"What the hell is 'welp'?" England demanded and ran after him.

"Ahahahahaha! A hero never tells!" At least he didn't seem any different. England began to wonder if he'd just been over reacting in his extended moment of fatigue.

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**So there we have the first chapter. I'm open to suggestions and I hope you enjoyed it!**


	2. Chapter 2

"Slow down you big oaf!" England grasped the back of America's obviously dirty night shirt and held on. He was dragged up a few more stairs before America came to a sudden stop and turned his head.

"I don't want to talk about it." It was the first time America had ever said those words in that order.

"Then why did you call me!" England shouted.

"That's under the 'I don't want to talk about it' category." America retaliated.

"Fine. Since there isn't any reason for me to be here..." He turned to leave.

"W...wait! You can't just leave! It's too early, sun ain't out yet! You haven't eaten! You need a shower!" America rattled on, pulling excuses out of his ass.

"You say I need a shower? Have you looked at yourself? Or better yet smelt!" England wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Hey! I showered!"

"When? Last week?" England muttered and America pouted. "Go on. I'll make us breakfast..."

"No!" England raised an eyebrow. "I mean... You're the guest! Yah! So, I have to cook us a totally awesome breakfast!" America squeezed by England and dashed back down the stairs.

He rolled his eyes and decided a shower did indeed sound rather inviting.

He just didn't expect to enter a bathroom that looked as though it hasn't been cleaned a weeks. Mildew and mild clung to most surfaces besides the sink which looked well used. At least, though England, he's brushing his teeth.

And so England set to work, ignoring his urge to stalk back down the stairs to yell at America.

"I'm bloody fucking England and I just live terrorizing America! Gotta check what the phone calls are! Once! I call him once and he goes bananas! Pfft." Now, America wasn't in the best of moods as he fried bacon and eggs. He didn't recall calling England more than once and if he did, he wouldn't admit to it. Secretly, he was pleased that England was at his house. It wasn't often that he showed up uninvited (terrorized into coming).

He flipped the bacon and winced as some fat jumped out of the pan an onto his hand. No matter how many times he made bacon it always surprised him.

"England dude! Food's ready!" America yelled. He hadn't heard the shower so he had no idea where England was or what he was doing. For a moment he wondered if he'd actually left.

England didn't disappoint. He showed up with a dirty rag that'd been used on the toilet and threw it.

"Wha..." It landed right in his mouth. "Mffg!" America pulled it out and looked at it.

"That was used on the toilet. Now it's used for your mouth. About equally dirty I would say." England grumped.

America eyes went wide as the moon and he dropped the rag in horror. He was only frozen for a minute before he was flushing his mouth out with water.

"This should help with the taste." England gently handed him something round that America took without hesitation and shoved in his mouth. He chews quickly, paused and then coughed like a smoker.

"Soap!" He croaked out, looked like a rabid dog.

"Yes America. Great job. You've identified it correctly." England took a plate and got his food. America just glared and trudged upstairs to brush his teeth.

It was a somewhat pleasant surprise that America decided to ignore when he saw that his bathroom had been scrubbed. Instead he grabbed an electric blue toothbrush and some kiddie toothpaste and began brushing his teeth roughly. His anger dissipated with ever brush stroke before his shoulders dropped and he knew he needed to apologize to England before England even though about being nice.

He took a shower only to procrastinate and to think. England was downstairs eating and probably cleaning again. America hasn't even eaten yet; it had been forgotten in the moment.

After his shower he felt like he was cleaner than he'd ever been before. He felt ten pounds lighter after scrubbing all the grime off his body. He quickly wrapped himself Ina superman towel and charged downstairs, his stomach reminding him to eat.

"Did you kill it?" America demanded. England had his back to him and was currently washing the dishes.

"What are you talking about?"

"Mr. Bacon! You didn't throw him out did you?!" England scowled at the suds in the sink.

"No America. If you would open your eyes you would see that the bacon and eggs are in the table where you left them" He unplugged the sink and dried his hands.

"Thanks dude." America grabbed the rest of the food and plonked down in his seat to scarf it down!

When England turned around he was greater by the sight of a half-naked, damp America.

It wasn't at all an attractive sight. He had egg and bacon grease all over his face. None the less England found himself turning away quickly with a small blush.

He busied himself by scrubbing the counter and then the sides of the counter. It didn't take as much time as he'd hope because America had yet to leave. So he returned to scrubbing the counter.

"You already cleaned that." America pointed out attempting to be helpful.

England gripped the cloth tighter and felt his ears burn.

"I missed a spot." He ground out.

"Looks fine to me." In a moment America was right behind him looking over his shoulder. England jumped slightly and gave a small squeak much to the amusement of America.

"I don't think you're a good judge of its cleanliness." England swatted him away.

"Lies!" He placed a hand on his chest and faked hurt.

"Bathroom." England stated simply. "I can get the rag again, if you'd like."

"Alright I give." America chuckled. "Clean to your little heart's content." He ruffled England's hair and stroke his hero pose. "But I'll help!"

"No." England stated firmly and pushed past. "I'm done anyways. Now go put some clothes on! What if someone were to knock on your door?"

"I'd answer. Obviously. For a smart guy you're not that smart are you?" America tilted his head to the side, not understanding.

"Bloody Americans…" He murmured.

"What'd you say?"

"You can't just go around in a towel all day!" England stated quite scandalised. America just looked comfortable from where he stood.

"So I'll take it off to open the door then." America dead panned. For a moment England was afraid he was serious but America followed up his dramatic pause with a loud laugh.

"Clothes now." England still refused to look him in the eye.

"Only if you dress me!" America countered in a teasing voice. He loved the way England's cheeks flushed a delicate pink.

England then excused himself and went to tend to the garden, leaving America with his batman towel.

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**Thanks for reading!**


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